


like real people do

by ohjustpeachy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 03:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21029600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy
Summary: Steve isn’t sure when he realized how little people actually touch him now.





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

> For the "pining" square of Happy Steve Bingo, and a prompt asking for touch-starved Steve and very touchy Tony.

“You really saved the day out there earlier, Cap,” Tony says casually. “Thanks again.” He leans over and gives Steve’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, the kind of casual, friendly touch Steve has seen him give the rest of the team a million times over, but still, he freezes, his whole body going rigid. Steve has _ seen _ Tony be this way, but it’s only ever with other people. 

Steve is rarely on the receiving end of Tony Stark’s affection. 

“At ease, soldier, it’s not _ so _ out of character for me to pay you a compliment, is it? I thought we were getting better,” Tony says defensively, running his hand down the length of Steve’s arm and misunderstanding him completely. 

Steve coughs a little to cover his surprise. “No, no, it’s not… You’re welcome, Tony, of course. We make a great team,” he says finally. His gaze must linger too long on Tony’s hand, because Tony follows his eyes and immediately snaps his hand away like he’d been burned, folding his arms tight against his chest as if to resist the temptation to touch Steve again.

_ Wait, _ Steve desperately wants to say. _ That’s not what I meant_. But the words won’t come, caught in his throat like a paste. Tony’s mouth is a firm line now, and he nods before turning on his heel and leaving the room. 

_ Wonderful_. 

Steve isn’t sure when he realized how little people actually _ touch _ him now. He grew up with Bucky always there, and they were never shy with their affection. He didn’t know how accustomed he’d been to Bucky’s playful shoves, his arms around Steve’s shoulder as they walked, his careful hands patching Steve up after yet another street fight, until he was thrust into a world without them. Then there’d been his ma, who was quick to hug and faster to grab his hand, ruffle his hair, showing her love in every maternal touch. Steve was lonely in this new world in a way that was brand new to him, and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

He didn’t have the kind of relationship with the team where he could just… ask for a hug. His cheeks burn shamefully at the thought. _ Pathetic_.

Instead, Steve spends the next few weeks trying to make it up to Tony, to get him to touch him again, even in passing, but Tony appears to be uncharacteristically walking on eggshells around Steve specifically. A painful combination of guilt and longing churn in Steve’s stomach whenever they’re in the same room, especially when the rest of the team is around, and he has to watch Tony throw his arm around Bruce while he sips his coffee, or massage Natasha’s hurt shoulder while they watch a movie. He knows how hard it is for Nat to get comfortable around people, and it’s not like Steve begrudges her the attention, it’s just hard to watch, knowing he can’t have it too.

He starts slowly, sitting next to Tony at breakfast, passing him creamer for his coffee or a plate of pancakes, just to brush their fingers together. Steve’s persistent, and after a few times, Tony meets his eye and gives him a tentative smile, like he doesn’t want to press his luck. 

It’s a start.

In the meantime, Steve pretends it doesn’t bother him to see Tony give Thor a long hug goodbye, draping his cape around his shoulders before he leaves for Asgard. He has to turn away when he walks into the gym to see Tony extending a hand and helping Clint up after a sparring session. Really. _ Clint_.

One night, he brings a cup of tea down to Tony in the lab. Steve can’t sleep, and he can think of just one other person who might be awake. The tea is warm in his hand, and Steve clears his throat to alert Tony to his presence before he can talk himself out of it. Tony looks pleased enough to see him, though, gesturing with his head for Steve to come in. He doesn’t have to be told twice. 

Tony takes the mug gratefully, breathing in the steam and taking a careful sip. “It’s not coffee, but it smells amazing. Thanks, Steve. What are you doing up at this hour? Though I guess you don’t need much more beauty rest.” Tony seems to think twice about this comment as soon as it leaves his mouth, shooting a worried look Steve’s way, but he’s too distracted by the flush of warmth rolling through him to notice it. 

Steve laughs and gives a little shrug. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “I had a nightmare, needed to get out of my room.” Admitting it is easier in the comfortable quiet of the lab, with nothing but the whirring of the bots around them. 

“Yeah, I know all about that,” Tony says sympathetically. “Feel free to hang out down here, I’ll be up for a little while yet.” He motions to the sofa tucked in the corner, which suddenly looks to Steve like the most welcoming space in the world, small as it might be. He reaches out and squeezes Tony’s hand, just briefly, but enough.

“Thanks, Tony, I think I might. You shouldn’t stay up too late either, though,” Steve says. He tries not to read too much into the pleasantly surprised look on Tony’s face as he releases his hand and makes himself comfortable on his couch, mug in hand. 

Steve must be comfortable enough that he falls asleep, because he wakes up hours later, his body is stiff from having slept on a sofa made for a much smaller person, yet deliciously warm. As he blinks himself awake, he remembers where he is, becoming acutely aware of the weight surrounding him. At some point during the night, Tony had joined him on the couch, and now they were pressed together tightly, Tony’s arm thrown haphazardly across Steve’s middle. He tries to steady his breathing, his heart beating haphazardly at this realization, and Steve thinks dazedly that he might never have trouble sleeping again, if he could just sleep like this from now on. The bad back would be a welcome trade for waking up to the pleasant sensation of Tony curled around him. His breath was warm against Steve’s neck, tickling the hair at the nape, and he had Steve pulled in tight, like he might keep the nightmares away if he just held him close enough. Steve sighs, content, and feels sleep pull him back in. 

When he wakes up again, it’s much later, and he’s alone on the sofa once again. Steve does his best to swallow down the disappointment at the loss of contact, picking himself up and dragging himself to the elevator, to lick his wounds in the privacy of his own room. 

Steve knows it didn’t mean anything, but his brain keeps replaying that night in the lab, an endless loop of affection he won’t get to have again. _ Just get over it, Rogers_, he implores himself. He goes through a record thirty punching bags that week, trying to distract himself from his own mind in the gym when he should be sleeping.

“You know I’ll buy you as many of these as you need, but your knuckles have gotta be crying for a break right now.” Tony’s voice in the otherwise silent gym startles Steve, and he whirls around. His fists were close to bleeding, Tony was right, and he hadn’t even noticed. Had barely felt it, really, he’d been so focused on the bag and the energy.

“Oh, I’m… yeah, probably,” Steve says sheepishly, looking down at his battered hands. It was the first time they’ve been alone since their little… incident, and Steve was nervous, feeling suddenly shy at Tony’s eyes on him. 

“Let me look at that,” Tony offers, crossing the room and taking Steve’s hands in his. He holds them carefully, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He really has to stop losing it at every touch Tony gave him, but he just… can’t help it. 

“It’s not that bad, I heal quick,” Steve says, half tempted to yank his hands back, half wanting to beg Tony to never let them go. 

“You do, but that doesn’t mean you should suffer in the meantime. Come on, there’s a first aid kit down here somewhere…” Tony wraps a hand around Steve’s wrist, like he might try to turn and flee rather than have Tony help him, and leads them to the cabinet in the corner. There is indeed a first aid kit inside, and Tony pulls out anti-bacterial and gauze while Steve perches himself on a stack of fallen punching bags. He tries to focus on keeping his breathing even. 

Tony’s holding his hands again though, so careful and warm Steve wants to drink the moment in. “This might sting a bit,” Tony warns softly, smoothing the cream over Steve’s knuckles. He sucks in a breath despite the warning, and Tony looks at him apologetically. 

“Sorry,” he says, like it’s hurting him more than Steve to do it. He winds the gauze around his hands with a patience and care Steve has only seen him use in the lab, and he sighs.

“Almost done,” Tony says, uncertain again. Steve hates it, this dance they’ve been doing. He hates watching Tony, the most tactile person he’s ever known, be affectionate with every person they know, but not him. He hates that they’ve barely spoken since that night in the lab, and he’s slept even less. He misses Tony, like a limb, but he wasn’t Steve’s to miss. It was torture, all of it.

“Tony,” Steve says, just as Tony says “Done,” and they look at each other and laugh a little. 

“Oh,” Steve says. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to let them get so bad.” He looks down at his hands, securely bandaged but still tucked in Tony’s hands, then hazards a glance up. 

Tony’s looking at him with concern, paired with something else Steve can’t quite put a name to. 

“Any time, Steve. It’s the least I can do after throwing myself in bed with you the other night. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you, by the way. I just… I know you don’t it, being touched, and I just… I’m an octopus when I sleep, Pep always said so, and I’m just. I’m sorry.” Tony looks like this little speech is killing him, but Steve’s stuck on just one piece of it. 

“I don’t like being touched?” Is that what he really thought? After everything?

“Well, yeah. I mean, don’t you?” Tony asks, eyes going confused now.

“I do like it, I’m just not… used to it? I like it more when it’s you,” Steve says. It’s like he’s watching himself from above, like this isn’t really him, opening his mouth and confessing everything he feels to Tony in the middle of the gym, of all places. “People don’t touch me much these days, at least, not off the battle field.”

Something clicks in Tony’s brain, and Steve’s worried he’ll look at him with pity, but he doesn’t. “Oh,” Tony says. Then, “Steve.” He stands, letting Steve’s hands drop carefully, then pulls Steve closer to him, until his arms are enveloping Steve, his senses consumed by _ Tony _ . Tony who was _ hugging him _ and not letting go. He hadn’t even had to ask. Tony’s arms are warm and strong and he doesn’t let go, just holds onto Steve until he starts to feel boneless. Being hugged by Tony was like tea on a sore throat, or a hot bath after seventy years of cold. It was _ everything _. After one minute or one hour, Steve realizes that he should probably hug Tony back, so he tucks his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, breathing deeply, and hugs him tightly, pressing his eyes shut. If this was all he ever got, he was going to remember it. 

“This okay?” Tony asks eventually, and Steve laughs into his shoulder, lifting his head to meet Tony’s eye. 

“Perfect,” he breathes, knowing his face is flushed, pleased and shy. 

They go quiet again then, Tony still not letting him go, and neither of them looking away. Tony raises a hand to Steve’s cheek, brushing his thumb along Steve’s jaw, and he shivers at Tony’s soft, callused hands on his skin. He nods, like he’s confirming something they’re both wondering, and Tony leans in and brings their lips together, tentative and soft at first, then messier, teeth and tongues and months of wondering and wanting and waiting. Their hands are everywhere, face and hands and shoulders and hair, and it’s all the touch Steve had been craving for so long, threatening to overwhelm him. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says when they finally pull apart, breathing hard. It’s not exactly the reaction you want after kissing the person you’ve been stupidly pining over for months. “I thought I was making you uncomfortable, so I stayed away. I didn’t know you needed… or wanted…” Tony doesn’t seem to know how to end his sentence, so he trails off and looks at Steve instead. 

“I want it,” Steve says simply. “This. You. All of it.”

He pulls Tony back in against him, resting their foreheads together. Because now that he had him, Steve had no intention of letting him go again. Tony just grins at him and leans up to press their lips together again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm omg-just-peachy on tumblr!


End file.
